


Mona Lisa Smile

by watanukitty



Category: Maleficent (2014), Maleficent (Disney Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 17:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21103499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watanukitty/pseuds/watanukitty
Summary: A seemingly random encounter leaves Diaval mesmerized and irresistably drawn to a beautiful stranger.Artist!Diaval AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this five years ago and posted it on Tumblr. This was supposed to have 5 chapters but...I was completely derailed and Idk. Some more characters are supposed to show up and more THINGS will happen. Someday I'll finish this. Someday. :D

The lines curve, slope down, and converge, transferring the image on his mind to the paper. His hand tries to keep up with his brain, seeking desperately to capture the flashing frames of a picture from his imagination, attempting to turn the vision into reality, to something visible, tangible. Someone bumps into his table and his pen skids across the page, a harsh crooked line trailing after its wake.

Diaval curses and crumples the flyer he’s been drawing on, the branches of the Rowan tree slowly dissipating from his mind’s eye as he looks around for that clumsy bugger who can’t seem to see where they’re going.  
He sighs, not finding the culprit, and smooths out the flyer to see what was salvageable. He’s gotten pretty far with the trunk and winding branches, he thinks, and tucks the paper into one of the pages of his beat-up Moleskine sketchbook. He stands up, grabs his coffee, and begins to walk for the park. His head needs some clearing up, and he could use the open space.

—-

Diaval, for as long as he can remember, has been obsessed with birds, ravens, in particular. It’s up there with his absolute favorites in life: just beside drawing, and slightly above beer, coffee, and smoking.

He couldn’t find any ravens, not at four in the afternoon and certainly not in a place littered with people, but there are lots of pigeons around, and they will have to do. He sits on a bench just beside a lamppost, pulls out his sketchbook and pencil, and begins to draw a fat grey pigeon helping itself to some scattered bird feed. The head, the neck, and several feathers of a wing has been finished when he hears fast approaching footsteps, and the bird suddenly flies away, frightened. Diaval groans in frustration, and thinks, perhaps, that this might be a running gag of sorts.

“Birdie!” A small voice calls, and he looks up just in time to see a little girl, all blonde hair and bright smiles, attempting to chase after the kit of pigeons. She stops just in front of him and pants, her vivid blue eyes searching for signs of her feathered friend. It’s nowhere to be seen, so she pouts and her lips tremble, the beginnings of tears already forming in the corners of her eyes.

“Hey, hey,” Diaval says, leaving his seat and kneeling beside her. She takes one look at him and begins to cry, her little fists climbing to her face to rub at her eyes. He doesn’t know if it’s a good idea to just approach this little one so randomly, but he can’t just leave a crying child. “I got the pigeon, look,” he tells her, trying to peer into the child’s face.

She stops momentarily and regards him disbelievingly. “You do?”

“Yes, here,” he answers, tearing the drawing of the pigeon off the book and handing it to her. The frown on her face disappears almost instantly, her eyes widening in delight at she looks at the drawing.

He suddenly feels very proud.

“Birdie!” She squeals, lifting the drawing above her head to look at it in better light. She brings it down and stares at it closely before turning to him. “Can I have it?” she asks, and he couldn’t say no even if he tried, not with those puppy dog eyes.

“It’s yours, Princess,” he says, and can’t help but laugh when she squeals in delight again.

“Thank you mister!” the little girl exclaims, and then turns to run in the direction from which she came from, clutching the paper tightly in one hand. Diaval follows her with his eyes as she ran, and sighs.

He stops attempting to draw after that.

—-

Ten minutes and one and a half cigarettes later, he hears the little girl again. He scrambles up from where he was slouching on the bench and puts out his cigarette, not wanting the girl to catch a whiff of second hand smoke. He looks up just in time to see her running, his drawing still in hand, but this time she’s not alone.

She’s being followed by woman, and a very very beautiful one at that. Diaval is very rarely stunned but he is now—his eyes trained on the woman’s graceful gait and simple but elegant attire, her cascading chocolate brown hair, and her plump lips. He looks at her eyes last, and even in his spot he can see the way her emerald eyes seem to shimmer.

He is mesmerized, and thus when she speaks to him, he completely loses track of his words.

“Mister!” the little girl beams as she arrives, but he’s not paying attention. He can’t keep his eyes off the woman walking behind her.

“Mister, mister!” the little girl says, pulling at his sleeves. He’s broken off his trance and looks down at her, an easy smile returning to his face. “Why, hello again, little Princess.”

Princess giggles and tugs at his sleeves more, forcing him to kneel down to match her height. “I showed this to Mommy and she wanted to see you!” she chirps, bouncing on her heel.

“We wanted to return it to you,” the woman, Princess’ mommy, speaks suddenly. Diaval turns his head with every intention to look at her quizzically but ends up staring instead. Her face is the epitome of seriousness but by god, she is even more beautiful up close.

He gulps.

“No, I—uh, I gave it to her,” he tells her, standing up and dusting his knees. She raises her left eyebrow slightly and purses her lips at that.  
“Surely you must be needing it for something?” she asks.

“No! No. I was just…” he scrambles for words, and in the corner of his eye he sees Princess beginning to pout again. “It’s a gift,” he finally says.

“Are you sure?” She prods, earning a silent nod from him. If she’s thinking that his behavior is strange, he’s thankful that she’s not letting it show. Not by much, anyway.

“See Mommy! It’s a gift! I can keep it!” Princess says, hopping up and down to get the adults’ attention. Her mother sighs and places a hand on her head. “What do you say to him, then?”

“Thank you!” Princess tells Diaval, and he smiles at her in return. “You thanked me before but you’re welcome nonetheless, Princess.”

“Call me Aurora!” she offers. “I’m not a princess, just Aurora,” she explains, smiling and giggling all the while.

“I thought any little girl as pretty and sunny as you would surely be a princess,” he says, and bless her, the little girl beams at him even more.

It’s the mother’s turn to speak. “Thank you for this, Mr…”

“Diaval,” he supplies, his words trailing as his eyes meet hers. He thinks he’ll never tire of looking at them. “Just Diaval.”

“Alright, Diaval,” she says, testing the name on her tongue. Goosebumps rise on his forearms upon hearing his name on her lips, and he slightly shrugs his shoulders to get rid of them. “Thank you. She really loves it.”

“No problem, um…?”

“Mallory.”

“Mallory,” he whispers, letting the consonants and vowels roll off his lips. He loves the sound of it. “Y—your daughter’s a good kid,” he tells her, whether he just wants to let that simple truth out or to ease the awkward tension that he feels, he doesn’t know.

“She’s not my daughter,” Mallory replies, and he could only stare at her, caught off guard by the information. She begins to usher little Aurora home, but not before catching his gaze one more time, her lips lifting slightly at the corners in a not-quite smile.

“Goodbye, Diaval,” she says, followed by Aurora’s enthusiastic bye-bye’s and even more enthusiastic waving.

“Goodbye…Mallory,” Diaval murmurs. He stands staring after their direction long after they’ve gone, the image of her eyes and face now suddenly burned into his mind.

He wonders if he’ll see her again.


	2. Chapter 2

Draw, smudge, erase. Diaval repeats the motions over and over and pauses to peer at the drawing in front of him, tilting his head this way and that, trying to evaluate what’s lacking and what’s overdone. Draw, smudge, erase, erase, erase. A small hole slowly appears at where he’s rubbing the small eraser, effectively ruining the paper and the drawing. He groans in frustration and pushes his materials away from him. He gives up.

“What did that paper ever do to you?” Milo asks with furrowed brows, looking up from his notebook. Diaval gives him a brief glance before burying his face in hands.

“I just can’t get it right.”

“It looks pretty good to me,” Milo shrugs, the ruined drawing now in his hands.

“But it’s all wrong!” Diaval bemoans, snatching the drawing from Milo. “Her jawline is asymmetrical, and the shape of her eyes is not quite right!”

Milo squints at him and pushes his big, round glasses up his nose. “Who is that, anyway?”

“Mallory,” Diaval answers while inspecting the drawing again. He messed up her chin, too, now that he thinks about it.

“Who’s Mallory?”

“She’s this lady I met at the park two weeks back.” Two weeks, four days, and…twenty one hours. But who’s counting?

Not Diaval, nope.

“Okay…” Milo nods, scratching his chin. “So why are you drawing her?”

“Because!” Diaval starts, holding up the drawing for Milo to see and shaking it for emphasis. “She’s beautiful! Okay no, don’t look at this this is a poor imitation of her,” he crumples the paper and throws it over his shoulder. “She’s beautiful, and I can’t get her off my mind!”

He receives one of the most incredulous looks Milo has given him. “Dude, I told you not to drink that vodka in the storeroom,” he tells Diaval.

“I can’t drink it if there’s no more of it,” Diaval says, before continuing. “The moment I saw her I just…” he pauses, recalling the moment, his hands held in mid-air in front of him. Mallory’s face flashes before his eyes and he just has to breathe a sigh. He’s lost in reverie until Milo waves a hand in front of his eyes.

“Uh, yeah,” he clears his throat. “See, once I see something new or interesting or appealing—whether in actuality or just in my imagination—I want to transfer it to something. So I can look at it again, or hold it, whatever. I just want to draw it.”

“And anyway, the moment I saw her she’s just stuck here,” Diaval taps his temple. “She’s there. Glued. Branded…” He looks to Milo and twitches a hand in a call for help.

“‘Imprinted?’” Milo suggests.

“Imprinted, yes!” Diaval exclaims, slamming the table with his hand. “She’s imprinted.”

“And yet you can’t draw her correctly?” Milo asks as he wipes his glasses with his shirt.

Diaval exhales through his nose. How was he going to explain this? “Okay, it’s like this. I have the image of her in my mind. The whole image. But the moment I try to focus on…say her ears—I come out blank. I have her image in my head but I can’t break it down to pieces. I know what this certain part looks like, but I’m not sure how it _exactly_ looks like. It could look like that in reality, but what if that’s just my imagination? All I have are these distorted pieces of her and once they’re all down on paper, they look _wrong_, you know?”

Milo considers him for a moment, before answering, “…No, not really.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why I’m telling you. I mean all of this could have been easier if I had some kind of photographic memory but alas,” Diaval huffs, leaning back into his rickety chair.

“Right,” Milo nods, his eyes back on his notebook again. “So what now?”

“I’m gonna try again,” Diaval says, reaching out to grab a piece of paper from the pile on the table. He almost touches one when Milo suddenly swats his hand.

“Dude. Hands off. That thing dates back to hundreds of years ago!”

“Sorry,” he mutters. “It’s not my fault you leave your…gibberish lying around.”

“Ancient runes are not gibberish!” Milo scoffs, positively affronted now. Diaval laughs at the look on his friend’s face and pushes his chair back from the working table, standing up and beginning to gather his things.

“Where are you going?” Milo asks just as Diaval grabs his bag.

“I’m going out for coffee,” Diaval replies, putting on his black jacket and slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Milo nods again and gets back briefly to his notes before snapping his head back up to look for Diaval, who was almost out the door. “Oh yeah, Hugo told me to remind you about the exhibit. He’s asking about your piece.”

Diaval’s hand stills over the door knob. Crap, he keeps forgetting to update his boss about that. As if there’s anything to update him about.

“He says he hopes you’ll paint something other than a bird this time,” Milo continues, scribbling away in his notebook.

Yeah, that’s likely. “Tell him I’m working on it,” Diaval says dismissively, and exits the room.

——

He orders his black coffee to-go, but opts to sit in his usual spot, too lazy to walk back to the museum at the moment. The back room that he usually hangs out in smells of mold and dust, and while he’s used to the chipping wall paint and the old wooden furniture that he’s sure has seen better days, he still needs to inhale something other than the scent of the old tomes that Milo’s working on or the fumes coming from whatever’s being kept in the next room. Plus, he never liked being cooped up indoors for too long.

Laying his head back and tilting his chair slightly, Diaval looks up at the sky, attempting to make sense of the shape of the clouds. His eyes go over the muted blue-grey expanse and settle on a cumulus—one that could pass for a fluffy chicken if he squinted hard enough.

“Looking for more birds?”

The chair briefly loses balance at Diaval’s sudden movement and lands on the ground with a soft thud. He steadies his seat and takes a few calming breath before looking up, only to find himself face to face with the woman who was haunting his thoughts for these past couple of weeks.

“Mallory,” he breathes, his eyes widening as he took her in, making sure that it really is her and not some image that his mind conjured up. “I, uhm…” he fumbles, hating the way he seemed to stutter around her and winces inwardly at having been caught sitting outside a cafe and gawking at the sky like a complete idiot. “Sort of.”

“Is this seat taken?” She asks coolly. He shakes his head, allowing her to pull the chair out and sit with careful grace. Diaval watches as she takes off her aviator shades, and looks away in time just in case he gets accused of staring.

There was a moment of terse silence, broken occasionally by the rustling of the pages of Diaval’s sketchbook and by the tapping of his fingers on the table. It was rather uncomfortable, and he was getting anxious. He clears his throat. “So uh…you come here often?”

“Mm?” Mallory mumbles against her coffee cup, her eyes shifting to Diaval. “I beg your pardon?”

“Do you come here often?” He repeats. She looks more relaxed today, less…severe than the last time he saw her.

“I think I’ll begin to,” she says. “The coffee here’s miles better than what we have at work,” she adds with a smile before taking another sip from her cup. Diaval holds back a grin, and mirrors her movements, finishing his drink with one last gulp. “I can relate,” he admits, earning a small chuckle from her.

“What do you do, Diaval?” She inquires. “Aside from giving out drawings of pigeons to hyperactive little girls of course.”

The memory of the event does make him grin this time. “Oh yeah, how’s Aurora?”

“She’s fine,” Mallory answers. “She keeps trying to copy your drawing.”

Diaval beams at that, imagining the little girl with her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth, slaving over her own version of a park pigeon. “That’s good,” he says, and, remembering her query, “I’m an artist. Or at least I’d like to think so, anyway.”

He waits for her to say something but is met with silence so he continues. “I work in a museum, just a couple of blocks away from here. I’m mostly in charge of setting up exhibits for guest artists, and occasionally I take on restoration projects. Although sometimes things are slow so my boss lets me work on other things.”

“Like photography,” Mallory says as-a-matter-of-factly, nodding to the camera sitting beside his sketchbook. Diaval nods. “Let me guess: you specialize in pictures of birds.”

“Well, yes…and no,” Diaval replies, rubbing the back of his neck. “I often take pictures of birds, but I don’t sell them,” he says. He had only taken the camera out because a particularly plump robin caught his eye while walking to the cafe. He’s mildly surprised that she noticed it.

“So what are these ‘other things’ that you’re working on?”

He scans her face before answering, baffled as to why she’s so seemingly curious about him. She doesn’t look the type to do much prodding, but he’s going to indulge her anyway. He’s not in a terrible hurry after all.

“Commissions,” he says, but leaves out the fact that those are far and few in between. He never seemed to be a magnet for adoring patrons. “But I also do editorial cartoons for the local paper.” His deadline is nearing for that one, but he supposes that he’ll just wing it like always.

“I must have already seen one of your drawings then,” she tells him. Diaval nods again and shrugs at that, not really knowing how to respond. “What about you?” he asks instead, diverting the focus away from his line of work. It could get dull if they dwell on it further.

“I’m new in this town. Just started on a teaching position over at Walt,” she replies, leaning back into her seat, her eyes traveling to the other customers beside them before returning to him.

That would explain some things, Diaval thinks. He would have heard of someone like her from Milo. “What do you teach?”

“Microeconomics and econometrics.”

“Wow,” Diaval says. “Sorry, I’m never much for graphs and numbers,” he shares. He actually rather hates them.

“And I don’t have a single creative bone in my body,” she muses out loud. “I envy you. If only I could appease Aurora with something like that, just like what you did.”

“I could teach you. Or her,” he blurts out. Mallory laughs softly, taking a sip of coffee before shaking her head. “No, I’m hopeless,” she murmurs, her voice soft and her eyes downcast for a moment. “Aurora might like it though.”

“If ever you want to start training her to win star stamps for finger painting, I’m definitely your guy,” Diaval says, smiling in earnest to prove the sincerity of his offer. Mallory returns his smile, albeit with a smaller one.

“I’ll think about it,” she says laughingly, before standing up and fetching her sunglasses and her cup from the table. “I have to go, Diaval. Thanks.”

He nods, and watches as she starts walking away. Mallory has taken several steps before he stands up and calls after her. “Mallory, wait!”

Her head turns at the sound of her name and she stops in her tracks, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Can I take your picture?” Diaval asks, picking up the camera from the table and cradling it in his hands.

“Did I suddenly grow feathers while we were talking?” she demands. Diaval shakes his head.

“Just…humor me,” he says, half pleading, all while shrugging a shoulder and waiting with bated breath at what her answer will be.

Mallory arches an eyebrow and hesitates, but twists her body to fully face him anyway. “Alright then,” she concedes.

Diaval grins. He peers through the eyepiece, adjusts and focuses the lens, and takes the shot.

——

“No way,” Quincy—or ‘Quasimodo’ as he likes to be called—drones, gawking disbelievingly at Diaval. “You can’t be that lucky, seeing that girl again just like _that_.”

"I’m telling you,” Diaval says defensively, “I was sitting there and she just sort of…appeared,” he finishes, shaking his head as if he still couldn’t believe it either.

“He won’t shut up about it since yesterday,” Milo quips from the far end of the working table, the top of his head the only thing visible behind piles of old, frayed books.

“You know, you really shouldn’t have drunk that vodka that we found in the storage,” Quasimodo chides, narrowing his eyes at Diaval.

“It’s not like Victor does inventory of the stuff dumped in there,” Diaval mutters. “Ah!” he stands up and fishes for something in his jean pocket, sorting through various knick knacks before being able to find what he’s looking for. “I’m being completely serious. I have a picture of her, see?” He holds up a black and white photograph to show to his friends.

Milo scrambles from behind his work and walks over to Diaval before seizing the photo from the latter’s fingers. “You didn’t tell me you have a picture of her,” he says, adjusting his glasses to see the photo better. “And yeah, you did mess up that earlier drawing that you did.”

He’s right of course, but Diaval gives him a whack in the head anyway.

“W-Wait—you took a picture of her like a _creep_?” Quasimodo asks with a grimace on his face, making Diaval huff loudly at the accusation.

"I asked for her permission!” he informs them, the indignation in his voice rising with every word. “And I’m not a creep!” he adds.

“And yet you’ve already filled up your sketchbook with drawings of her,” Quasimodo tells him pointedly.

“Says the guy who made a wood carving of the girl he likes _and_ her pet goat,” Diaval grumbles, not caring if Quasimodo hears.

And hear it he does. “Diaval,” he sighs, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t look at Mallory like she’s some kind of manic pixie dream girl…”

"Listen to Quasi, Diaval,” Milo interrupts, “he knows his stuff.”

Quasimodo gives Milo a half-hearted glare. “I’m just saying,” he continues, turning to Diaval again and looking at him straight in the eye, “that she might not be who you think she is.”

Diaval sighs and sits down, reaching out to Quasimodo’s side of the table to play with an unfinished clay sculpture of a rather fat gargoyle, one that, upon further inspection, looks suspiciously like their boss, Hugo. “I don’t know,” he says softly, turning over the clay in his hands. “I feel like…I just want to figure her out.” His mind had gone into overdrive, going through their interactions repeatedly, trying to figure out what it is about her that he found so utterly intriguing. He thought that maybe it’s just a matter of capturing her beauty and creating something from its image, but he’s not certain if there’s more to it than that.

He doesn’t really want to know.

“I think what you should do,” Quasimodo starts, motioning for Diaval to return his handiwork, “is to figure her out for who she really is, and not for what she looks like or what she represents—if you ever get another chance, that is.”

Diaval looks down and nods. Another chance.

He feels like he’s run out of them.

——

To say that the Walt College library is massive would be an understatement. It’s more than massive. It’s absolutely _ginormous_

Diaval scratches his head as he surveys his surroundings: most of the towering walls contained books—shelves upon heaping shelves all filled with volumes of varying shapes and sizes, probably covering every topic under the sun. Here and there were tall ladders, used to gain access to the higher shelves, along with two sets of long, winding staircases to take visitors and students alike to the upper levels of the library. There was a separate section with desks and wooden tables, meant for those intending to stay longer and study in house, accompanied by plush sofas for the more casual readers. Various paintings and busts adorned the interior, and everything was illuminated by the bright, mid-morning sun streaming in from the glass covered dome ceiling. It should be no wonder why this place is the talk of the town, and about five other neighboring towns.

It’s all beautiful, really, if only it didn’t make Diaval’s head ache.

He starts walking to what he wagers to be the reception desk, and rings the bell once, and then twice. No one comes. Great.

Diaval stalks off sullenly, picking a random direction to walk in. He has to start somewhere, he thinks. He’ll find that book, he tells himself. Eventually.

He had been strolling idly in between shelves in a section he didn’t care knowing the name of, absentmindedly running one of his hands against book spines and thinking of ways to blackmail Milo for getting him lost in a _library_ of all places, when he collided rather painfully with someone, the impact of which rendering them both off balance and sending several books that the person had been holding all across the floor.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Diaval says hurriedly, bending down to pick up the books from the floor. “I didn’t see you there I—” he stammers, gathering the items and looking up to see his victim for the first time.

Mallory’s amused grin greets him, her iridescent eyes glowing under shadows of the shelves. Diaval stands up in muted shock, his eyes glued to hers, and hands her the books.

“Well, well,” she drawls, tucking the books in the crook of her arm. “What an awkward situation this is.”

“Sorry,” Diaval says before rubbing the back of his next. ‘Awkward’ doesn’t begin to cover it. “We really need to stop bumping into each other like this,” and quite literally this time too.

Mallory merely hums in agreement. “What brings you here, Diaval? You’re not following me, are you?”

“What? No!” Diaval objects. “I just…my friend—he’s a linguist working for the museum—he made me go fetch him this book on ancient Polynesian phonemes and hieroglyphs,” he explains, cringing inwardly at the relapse of his Mallory-induced stuttering.

“And…you’re looking for it in the Economic Journals section?”

So that’s what’s this place is. “Yeah, I’m kinda lost,” he confesses. “And no one’s at the counter so…”

Mallory studies him for a moment before saying,”I think I saw Languages and Linguistics on the second level.” Diaval nods in understanding and sheepishly rubs at his neck again. “You seem to have this place memorized already, huh?”

“Yes,” she begins, directing her eyes away from him and centering them on the books in her arms, “I didn’t really have anywhere else to go to in between my classes and my cramped office wasn’t helping. And besides,” she shrugs, “they say this library is the best in the area, so might as well.” She pauses after this, and a look passes over her face as if she realized that she somehow divulged too much.

Diaval was quick to break the ensuing dead air. “It’s a good thing you did then,” he says. “You got to help me.”

“You looked like you needed it,” she affirms, her voice low. “I’ll leave you to your search then.” She gives him a brief glance and turns to leave, books in hand, not noticing how he remained rooted to his spot.

Diaval sighs, feeling slightly defeated at having yet another short-lived interaction with her. He wonders why he always gets to meet her in the most unexpected of times, only to have him watch helplessly as she walks away, waiting for another chance to…

_Chance._

He runs after her, Quasimodo’s words ringing in his ears. He did get another chance—another chance to get to know her, to understand why he’s so inexplicably drawn to her, to _figure her out_ as he once said.

This is another chance to be with her longer, and damn him if he’s not gonna take it.

Diaval catches up to her as she rounds up a corner and reaches for her wrist. Mallory halts at the sudden touch, her head turning sharply in his direction. He lets go of her hand as she spots him, her brows furrowing for an explanation.

“You said you’d hang out in the cafe more,” he reminds her despite his panting. “Would you…would you like to get some coffee after this?”

Mallory’s eyes widen and her lips part slightly. Diaval waits patiently for her answer, and tries to catch his breath as she appraises him.

“Is that a question?” She asks, her bright eyes trained on him. “Women don’t like too much questions, you know.”

Diaval stares at her blankly before recovering after a moment. “Have coffee with me,” he tries.

She tuts. “Too demanding.”

“Have coffee with me?”

“Another question.”

Diaval blinks at her in confusion and searches her eyes. He finds a hint of mirth there, of obvious challenge. He gulps, and tries again:

“I’m planning to get coffee after this, and I’d like it if you’d join me.”

The statement hangs in the air. Mallory’s eyes crinkle at the sides and her mouth turn up at the corners and he sees it again, that in-between grin—that Mona Lisa smile—that thing that completely pulled him to her.

“Let’s go get your friend’s book first,” she says finally, and begins to lead the way. Diaval grins, shoves his hands in his pockets, and follows after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Milo and Quasimodo are good bros :D


End file.
